


Charis Coffee

by miss_belivet



Category: Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Diana misspells all of the names and Isabel only slightly hates the world, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Fluff, Rating May Change, the Themysciran coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-20 13:36:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11336574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_belivet/pseuds/miss_belivet
Summary: She shows up one day in a mask and orders one small, black coffee.(Hiatus - updated irregularly.)





	1. Diana

"Who in sweet Aphrodite's name is she?"

Diana jumps, nearly upending her water bottle onto the rubber mat beneath her feet, and turns to glare at Menalippe. To her credit, Menalippe isn't disturbed by Diana's ire; she continues staring at their newest customer with ill-concealed curiosity.

She nudges Diana with a flour-coated elbow.

"You ask like I'm supposed to know."

"You do take their names with every order," Menalippe says with a suspicious turn of her lips. It is the same look she has given her niece since Diana was a little, when she would try to wheedle what Antiope wanted for the holidays out of her. Diana wonders if she might get a cookie for divulging this information, too, or if those days are long gone.

"She ordered a dark roast and said her name was Morrow. That is all I know."

Menalippe nods. _"And_ she's wearing a mask."

So she is. In her small corner of the shop, Morrow sips her coffee delicately through the strange, hard prosthetic she wears around her mouth. A permanent scowl between the seams makes her look sinister, and the effect is hardly lessened by the way her brow furrows in concentration at the screen of a sleek, black laptop.

And as much as Diana tries not to judge their customers based upon appearance alone, it _is_  odd.

"Did she even add any cream or sugar to her coffee?"

Diana frowns at Menalippe. "Does that matter? She paid and took her drink, and I was busy cleaning up after Penelope's toddlers."

"You don't think it's strange that a masked woman shows up to a cafe that caters to queer women, orders the cheapest thing on the menu, and then pretends to drink it while messaging someone from a strange laptop in the corner?" Menalippe pushes a hand into the pocket of her apron. "I should text Antiope... Artemis is out back, too, and these tables are sturdy if it comes to—"

 _"Mena!"_ Diana's panicked whisper is hushed, but she still catches the attention of the few patrons spending their afternoon in the cafe. Menalippe freezes under the sudden scrutiny, giving Diana time to slap her hand and her phone back into her pocket, and pretends to examine the pastry display case. They wait until Morrow's attention returns to her laptop before Diana whirls on her aunt. "I think she just has a scar beneath it. Part of it was visible around the edges. And she left a tip. What terrorist leaves a tip?"

Menalippe's lips purse in thought and looks back at Morrow, who is holding the top section of the mask to her face as she sips at her coffee.

"Okay. _Okay,_ I'll go finish the rolls." Menalippe turns to the small window that looks into the kitchen, looking abashed for a woman prepared to fight someone with a table. "But let me know—"

"I will." Diana catches her gaze and widens her eyes, trying to convey her exasperation at her aunt with a slight shake of her head. From the corner of her eye she can see Morrow looking their way again. Diana suppresses an irritated sigh; their new customer has caught onto the situation. Heat rises up her neck, and she points sharply at the kitchen.  _"Go."_

Another half hour passes while Diana carefully avoids Morrow's eyes, completing task after menial task behind the counter. More dark roast is brewed, the pastry case swept for crumbs, and she is on her knees organizing the milk in the small fridge beneath the espresso machine by fat content when it happens.

The bottom of a saucer scrapes on the wooden countertop.

Diana frowns at the jug of half and half. Only an unfamiliar customer would think to return the dishes to her; most leave them at their tables or on the little ledge above the trashcans. She narrowly avoids giving herself a concussion with the countertop as she jumps to attention, wringing her thick, canvas apron between her hands. The sight of Morrow's neat, dark bun greets her, and her sharp, anticipatory inhale pulls the woman's idle attention from a framed painting of the Greek Isles beside the counter.

Most countertop confrontations do not end well.

She tries not to look at the nearest empty table as she thinks of a greeting. _Sturdy, if it comes to..._

"I could have taken care of your dishes," she begins, forcing some bravado into her voice. "You don't have to..."

"My insurance will not cover cosmetic surgery."

The masked woman nods abruptly, as if she has said all that she needs to say, and turns on her heel. The quiet, sparkling tinkle of the bell above the door contradicts the sharp movements she makes as she exits the shop.

Diana sighs, releasing her wrinkled apron. One more customer they would never see again; most were straight women who disappeared once they caught onto the general demographic of their customers, but she supposed that adding "masked, scarred woman of questionable sexuality" to the list was not a reach.

She tosses a clean dishtowel through the small window into the kitchen. "I'm telling Antiope!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am making edits to this story & updating as I go, so if you get a subscription alert, stay on the lookout for Chapter 3!


	2. Diana

She returns a week later, on an ordinary Tuesday that has run Diana ragged by noon.

After thirty years, the four members of the Prince family have perfected their cafe's schedule to an art, and Diana, as the youngest, gets the time-honored privilege of opening the storefront every day.

So, for years, Diana has been rising before five to meet Menalippe at the door, brew coffee and heat the water for tea, and begin the day's baking. She texts an impromptu grocery list to Antiope on most mornings and emails a small update on the previous day's earnings to her mother while she waits. Half an hour later, the doors open to their earliest, groggiest customers: leggings-clad new mothers, rumpled personal trainers, and the occasional nanny. After an hour of searching for cinnamon shakers and pumping out triple- and quadruple-shot drinks, the bright-eyed businesswomen and grumpy college students replace the mothers and trainers, and the breakfast rush lasts until the early hours of the afternoon.

And this week she does it all while preoccupied with thoughts of the masked woman from several days before. Newcomers are rare, but masked newcomers that end up being insulted into never returning are even rarer. Guilt had encroached on her like a boa constrictor over the past week; spaces where women like them could safely exist are so difficult to find, and she and Menalippe had been incredibly rude.

Four hours after opening, Diana leans against the counter, trying to take some of the pressure off her feet while her mother sorts through the cafe's paperwork at the bar and Menalippe kneads a loaf of bread beside her.

"Listen, I love Antiope, but if she wakes me up at four in the morning and then has the nerve to not help us open one more time..."She shakes a flour-covered fist at Diana. "So help me."

A smirk turns up the corner of Hippolyta's mouth, and she shakes her head, peering at Menalippe over a bill. "If she managed the late shift and still woke up to run at four, I doubt that she will feel threatened."

"Oh, she'd better—" The trill of the bell interrupts the threat, and the man who slips through the door earns another shake of Menalippe's fist. "Sameer, what part of _women's establishment_ don't you understand?"

"You don't want me to take the time to get my wig, Melanippe!" When a bit of dough flies at Sameer for the deliberate mispronunciation of her name, Diana expects chaos to erupt, but Hippolyta only rolls her eyes and returns her attention to the bills. "I left Charlie outside with a few cases we were picking up for the bar, but I had to run in when I saw her—"

The bell above the door rings, and Sameer clamps his mouth shut with an audible click of his teeth.

"Welcome to Charis."

Hippolyta's greeting is smooth, not betraying the surprise that settles into the lines of her mother's face once she turns around and sees the mask.

 _"Doctor Maru."_ Sameergrabs the poor woman's hand, shaking vigorously, and Diana and Hippolyta watch their masked customer stiffen and yank her hand from his grasp. Hippolyta doesn't waste a second; she is standing between the two before Sameer can say anything else, casting a dark over her shoulder at him.

Morrow's brow creases. "I wasn't aware you served men."

"We don't!" Menalippe hefts the dough she has been kneading off of the counter and elbows Diana in the side on her way to the kitchen. "Welcome _back_. Get out, Sameer."

"Di, check your phone." Sameer points at Diana, and he rounds Hippolyta and Isabel as if they are rabid dogs instead of two women in a coffeeshop. "Melanie, I will see _you_ Friday."

The confused irritation does not leave Morrow's expression as the door slams shut behind Sameer, and Hippolyta sighs. "We host a drag show with the bar down the street every so often. Community building, et cetera, et cetera."

"And they are usually so...?" The lift of Morrow's chin is haughty. She casts a glance back at the two figures crossing the street, one pushing a dolly loaded with boxes, and the visible corner of her mouth tightens.

Hippolyta mirrors the expression. "Yes."

A short nod ends the conversation, and Diana leans forward on the counter, desperate to end the awkward conversation. "Same thing as last time?"

"Yes." Dr. Morrow pulls the exact amount for a small coffee from her pocket, and Diana resists the urge to lift a brow. "To go, today."

"No pastry? Menalippe makes a terrific—"

"No. Just the coffee."

Although curt, her tone isn't insulting, so Diana nods and accepts the cash. As she gathers up a little cardboard cup and sleeve, she remembers Menalippe's line of questioning from the previous week and turns a curious look on Morrow.

"Room for cream? Sugar?"

She tilts her head, looking like she hadn't considered cream an option. "...No."

So Diana scrawled _Morrow_ on the side of the cup in green Sharpie and fills it with coffee to the brim, watching out of the corner of her eye, utterly fascinated by the strange woman who returned after her first insulting visit.

She looks sharp today, dressed in a long, straight skirt and flat black oxfords, though the cozy sweater worn on top of the look harkens back to the handful of devil-may-care professors at Diana's alma mater. She supposes she isn't far off the mark; Sameer called her _Doctor,_ so she might very well be a professor or psychologist or researcher at the university.

Still, she looks fairly lost as she waits at the end of the counter, scrolling through her phone.

"Coffee for Morrow," Diana announces just loud enough to grab her attention, popping on a lid and sliding the sleeve onto the cup.

_"Mah-roo."_

Diana tilts her head. "What?"

She lifts the cup and tapped just above the Sharpie scrawl with one thin finger. "My name is Isabel Maru. M-A-R-U."

"Oh." Isabel Maru turns to leave, apparently assuming their brief interaction finished, but Diana reaches out across the counter before she can think better of it. "Wait! We put on drag shows with the men from the bar, but we also have events for just our customers, too. Thursday night we're holding a poetry slam for just the women. You should... come by?"

The offer sounds flat, even to her, and she watches as Isabel's brow crinkles. She is likely thinking the same thing, Diana realizes as she recognizes the familiar look of oncoming rejection on that half-visible face. (She had been wandering around the cafe since infancy and properly working in it since she was fifteen; most women in their small community didn't want to start any drama with their barista or Hippolyta's daughter, whenever she asked, fearing for their supply of caffeine and date destinations. Rejection, at this point in Diana's life, is a given.)

"Perhaps."

Despite Isabel's straight-faced response, it is enough to surprise Diana. She barely chokes out an excited  _"Have a nice day!"_ before the bell above the door rings out again, announcing Isabel's exit.

Her mother chuckles at her over a slip of paper. "Isabel Maru... a name I think I should commit to memory."

Diana's phone buzzes in the pocket of her apron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this is just fluff wish-fulfillment for me, so we're picking up the pace with that good WonderPoison content soon.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is so appreciated and enjoyed! It truly makes my day. Thanks for reading <3


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